


Under My Skin

by HisAngelOfThursday (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Holy Terror spoilers, Second person POV, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:48:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/HisAngelOfThursday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most days, you forget what it’s like to be human at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a short little thing I was thinking about and wanted to write before the upcoming episode rendered it AU. As a brief mention, in my head-canon, Sam is aware of both Gadreel's presence and his true identity when the angel is not in recession (basically, when Gadreel is talking), but each time 'Ezekiel' would let Sam back to the surface, he would retcon him, similar to what Cas did to Lisa and Ben in Season 7, thereby erasing his memory of being possessed. However, when Gadreel's true identity was revealed, he no longer let Sam come back, trapping him in consciousness, which is where the story begins. Enjoy!

Waking up, seeing the sunshine, not knowing what’s coming yet looking forward to finding out. Feeling the tell-tale rumble of an empty stomach that begs for a pitstop at that nearby Taco Bell that will end up being a bad idea later on. Smelling the remnants of that old burrito and laughing as you both reach to roll down the windows at the same time. Tasting blood when a monstrous fist careens into your jaw, yet relishing the adrenalin the hunt always brings. It’s the standard human condition.

Most days, you forget what it’s like to be human at all.

Everything about you that is base and mortal and free is stifled to a hair’s breadth of life, the coil of Gadreel’s essence entrenched into every speck of you like the serpent he allowed into Eden all those millennia ago. You were never this claustrophobic in your own skin before, even when Lucifer had his claws dug into you. _He_ had craved your loyalty, and that had allowed him to be overcome, but Gadreel wants nothing but meat, bone, and silence. He doesn’t care about Sam.

You can’t be silent, though. Every second, you scream so loudly within your own body that it’s amazing that Dean can’t hear it. That Kevin hadn’t heard it before he —

No. You can’t think about that, not now.

Wherever Kevin is (heaven, presumably) at this moment, he has to know that you would never hurt him intentionally. You’re Sam, not the crazed angel who stole your hands to smite one of the few members still left of your screwed up little foster family. And maybe, just maybe, if Dean whispers that to your bound and gagged meatsuit a few thousand more times, or if you say it to yourself just as much, it might actually sink in.

 _SamSamSamSamSam_ . . .

 _Sam, I can hear you in there_ , Gadreel chides. It’s what he does when you come too close to the surface. He doesn’t even see you as a threat because your very soul is tattered into hamburger from the trials.

That is his mistake and could be your salvation.

Gadreel can tell Dean that you’re dead until doomsday, it doesn’t matter. You’re alive. The heart beating below that malignant layer of celestial being belongs to you and no one else, and while he may control the muscle and flesh that heart sustains, he can’t have _you_. He can’t have Sam.

You know that Dean will never stop fighting for you, even when everything around him stinks of hopelessness. But it’s not hopeless because you will never give up. Gadreel won’t win because you’re Sam-freaking-Winchester. You’ve died more than once and crawled from the proverbial grave to tell the tale. You’ve kicked addiction and shed the constraints of your so-called destiny simply because you willed it. And hell, you might’ve broke the world once or twice, but nothing on the planet could stop you from making it right again.

And Dean.

Dean needs you, even when he acts like he doesn’t need anybody. You’re the only family he’s got left aside from Cas, and you’ll be damned if this punk jailbird angel is going to make you hurt Dean.

With renewed vigor, you call out again.

It’s not the wretched scream of a doomed man or a soul in pain, but one of purpose. That single syllable has saved you more times than you can recall and, with any luck, will do again. You have to let him know you’re in here. He has to know you’re fighting just as hard as he is.

When your lips physically move, it’s almost such a surprise that sound doesn’t come out, but with every ounce of strength left in your battered being, you cry,

“Dean!”


End file.
